Photo by Sean Stuchen

I Can’t Be Bled

I love meditations and vibrations of my skin in the cold grocery store aisle.

Life is good. Even crying I love.
Ear massage by my tears
swing down to the jawbone
to trace tracks of tears so slow….

Temperature Patrol

I just slid out of bounds like I’m a softball player

couldn’t catch a ball without a somber prayer

that used to be my vehicle of self esteem

hardly put a put-put in the sputnik of my dreams

Bless Us Confess Us (2005)

Magic in plastic
we toss and we spoof like it
won’t come around in groundwaters,
pots and crops,
sons and our daughters’ stools,
spools of thread

Sukie Keita African dance

Picture a holiday

Picture a holiday
Where you’re exiled from the news
Able to adopt a life of reverence and
Paid to pen the script.

Photo by Sean Stuchen


Mask the cracked pepper eyeball
red underneath thirty lashes of salty assault.

Ask what’s wrong
just don’t demand no smile and shine,
nothing to upset her sand blasted finish.

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